Naamah's Blessing

wife, or I will beat you very badly,” Bao said with unnerving calmness. When the commander dropped his hand and made a move toward his sword-hilt, Bao feinted a jab at his face.
    Diego Ortiz y Ramos flinched, but held his ground. “I will not!” He glanced at Balthasar with indignation. “You are a sensible man, Lord Shahrizai. Our countries are allies. Do you want to provoke a diplomatic incident here?”
    “Oh, mayhap,” Balthasar said in his languid drawl. “Mayhap I’ll send a few of my men here back to Terre d’Ange to report that the Aragonian commander withheld information that might have saved the Dauphin’s life. Do you reckon that will sit well with your patrons in Aragonia?”
    Diego blanched. “You would not send away your only ship!”
    “Why not?” Balthasar shrugged. “The consensus seems to be that none of us are coming back from Tawantinsuyo alive.”
    The commander turned to me, his face still livid. “This is absurd. Doña Moirin, call off your husband.”
    “No,” I said thoughtfully. “I don’t think so.”
    “I have just spent an entire night trying to convince a very frightened young woman that I did not intend to harm her, while my wife paid for the offense you and your men gave the Emperor.” Bao whipped his staff upright, planting it with a thud. “If you do not wish to apologize, so be it. Draw your sword, and we will fight like men.”
    The Aragonian commander hesitated. Lord Cuixtli and the Nahuatl watched the proceedings with interest.
    Balthasar contemplated his fingernails, picking idly at a flaw. “If I were you, Commander, I would swallow my pride and apologize. Messire Bao has the reach of you with his pole, and he’s
very
skilled atwielding it.” He nodded toward the Nahuatl. “Also, it would be wise not to offend them a second time.”
    The fellow’s struggle was reflected on his face. At length, he forced himself to say the words in a wooden tone. “Forgive me, Doña Moirin. I apologize.”
    “And I accept.” I paused. “Denis?”
    Denis de Toluard came forward. “My lady?”
    “Will you translate something into Aragonian for me?” I asked him. “I would have the commander and all his men hear it.”
    “Of course.”
    I thought about what I wanted to say. “Although I did not choose this bargain, I do not regret it. Emperor Achcuatli showed me kindness and respect. He treated me with honor, and I am grateful for it.”
    Denis translated my words. Diego Ortiz y Ramos and his men heard them with sullen disapproval, but I saw Lord Cuixtli’s lips curve in a faint smile, and I knew my message had found its intended audience.
    “We will not presume on your hospitality much longer, my lord,” I added to the commander. “I am sorry for having unwittingly provoked unpleasantness here.” Beckoning to Denis, I pointed at one of the bags of
cacao
beans in the palanquin. “Please accept this as a token of my apology, and in compensation for lodging and feeding our company.”
    It embarrassed the fellow. “No, no!” He waved a hand in dismissal, his Aragonian sense of chivalry belatedly asserting itself. “You have accepted
my
apology, and that is payment enough.”
    I smiled sweetly at him. I did not want any debt between us. “Oh, but I insist.”
    Without waiting for a word from me, Denis tossed the sack at the nearest guard, who caught it out of reflex.
    “And now I would like to retire for a few hours,” I announced. Turning to Lord Cuixtli, I inclined my head to him. “Please thank the Emperor again for his generosity,” I said in Nahuatl.
    Lord Cuixtli touched his chest and brow in a gesture of respect far less casual than his salute at our first encounter. “I will tell him.”
    Once we had returned to our shared chamber, Bao was restless and moody, pacing the small space, moving in and out of the sunlight that slanted through the crude window and spinning his bamboo staff in his hands. I sat quiet and still on the coarse reed-stuffed pallet atop the wooden bed-frame, watching him pace through light and shadow, not wishing to disturb him.
    “I was not angry until that idiot opened his foul mouth,” he said abruptly. “Then…” He shrugged. “I was.”
    “I’m sorry,” I murmured.
    “It’s not your fault.” Bao sighed. “I meant what I said, Moirin. I knew who and what you were when I wed you.”
    “That doesn’t make it any easier,” I said.
    “No.” He twirled his staff in an intricate pattern. “It doesn’t.